


Promise Forever

by DGCatAniSiri



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Fluffy Porn, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 19:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20296651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DGCatAniSiri/pseuds/DGCatAniSiri
Summary: Altaïr and Malik have some alone time down in the library under Masyaf.





	Promise Forever

The bitterness over Kadar’s death aside, Malik’s anger towards Altaïr had never been born of hatred. Altaïr was the most skilled of the Assassins, and that strength and ability could not be denied, even if the man violated the Brotherhood’s tenants, in spirit if not letter, so frequently.

Altaïr could so easily be the best of them all, and yet pride and arrogance in himself made him more the worst of them.

The events that surrounded his rise to Mentor had humbled him, and Malik found he could hold his bitterness no longer. His brother’s death would be with him – like the stump of an arm that had rendered him unable to act as a full Assassin – but it was no longer the gaping wound that it had been originally.

Walking the halls of the Masyaf compound, Malik could even sense in the air the change that Altaïr’s mentorship had brought about among the Brotherhood. It was contradictory – now that Altaïr understood the Creed with more clarity, was setting about attempting to pass this knowledge along to the others in the Brotherhood, despite the new purpose and determination... Despite the vigilance the Brotherhood cultivated, there was an atmosphere akin to... “relaxation” was perhaps too strong a word, but certainly there seemed to be a lightness in the air.

Al-Mualim had been a harsh master, a demanding one, unlikely to offer the kind words that built confidence – you earned his respect, or you did not. It was binary with him, you received one or the other only. It seemed that Altaïr had already been encouraging a different attitude. There was the demand for one’s best possible effort, but now it was tempered with the recognition that those who loved their work and their brothers would see reason to offer them the depths of their devotion.

Some would call it weakness – Abbas, certainly, had already taken to saying that Altaïr was weakening them with his ‘soft’ touch, though he’d been wise enough to keep it to whispered comments that could be ignored if one didn’t wish to acknowledge them. Still, Malik believed that Abbas would cause them trouble, if not now then eventually. 

Let tomorrow’s problems be for tomorrow, he decided. For now... He recognized the need to savor the moment. He was not an old man, yet given everything, he felt old. And Altaïr, he knew, must feel even older, bearing the weight of years beyond measure.

The Master Assassin – for he could be no less at this point, even had he not been the one to slay Al-Mualim and take his place – had begun to use the lower chambers of the fortress as a library of sorts, a place where he studied the... artifact. Malik had seen the image it had projected upon Al-Mualim’s death, listened as Altaïr suggested that the image was indeed the world, a theory that Malik, having spent far too much time as of late making maps, found he agreed with, seeing the path of several rivers known, but that would mean that there was more world than known to mankind as it was. 

Malik suspected that was merely the edge of the blade of what was held within the golden globe Al-Mualim had coveted so.

Altaïr’s studies had begun to be in private, however – between the danger of the globe being discovered and the chaos that had happened when Abbas had briefly held it, it simply was far from a safe idea to engage in such study around the novices. It had already proven itself dangerous even in the hands of trained Assassins. 

As Malik entered the lower level of the fortress, he breathed a sigh of relief. There was always a crackling in the air, some tangible sense of foreboding, when Altaïr was working with the Apple. He didn’t have that sensation here and now, indicating that the Apple was not the subject of his studies right now. 

Indeed, he simply found Altaïr sitting in the light of the candles and torches, reading a text. The Altaïr of Solomon’s Temple would probably have dismissed choosing to read as a form of relaxation, favoring something more active, but it had seemed to have become Altaïr’s method of choice as of late. He’d grown appreciative of philosophy – it was no longer something that distracted men from the practical but something that he had to genuinely consider, given the secrets held within the Apple and how to handle the information they offered.

To sneak up on an Assassin was difficult at best. To sneak up on a Master Assassin was nigh impossible. Before Malik had done more than enter the room, Altaïr looked up from the text in his hands. “Malik.” The acknowledgement even came with what could almost be called a friendly quirk of his lips – a far cry from the contemptuous snarl they would have turned to a few months prior.

“I thought you might want some company, my friend.” 

“I welcome your company.”

The words had an air of formality, but the looks the both of them passed to the other were anything but.

Malik pulled the door closed behind him and then shrugged off the dark robe that marked him as _dai_. In the months since he had been forced into it, he’d been able to manage the change to his routine – one never truly appreciated all that they could do with two hands until they were reduced to only one. But he’d adapted. 

As he did this, Altaïr rose, crossing the distance between them. He would one day – probably soon – be forced to give up the traditional white robes of the order, if just to make sure that the image of the mentor of the Brotherhood looked the part. There would soon be no time for him to handle the assassinations that had so defined their order.

Like there would likely not be much more time for things such as this.

But for now, Malik admired the way Altaïr filled out his robes. Even at his worst as a person, as a member of the Brotherhood... Malik would acknowledge that Altaïr had never truly lost any of what made him attractive. Ironically, Altaïr had never been vain about his appearance. His skill, yes. But when it came to his appearance, the man had typically been something of a brick wall. 

“It’s a shame we’re not doing this elsewhere, though,” Malik murmured, as Altaïr’s arms pulled him into a close embrace.

“And why might that be?” Altaïr responded softly, his breath ghosting against the skin of Malik’s neck.

“I would be greatly amused at the scandalized faces of the novices as you scream my name,” Malik said with a wicked grin. Before Altaïr could make some pithy rejoinder, Malik made sure his mouth was otherwise occupied, kissing him with all the passion of love born from the many mixed emotions he’d held for the other man for years.

This was far from their first time, yet the thrill that came just from the kiss still touched something deep within Malik. He held no doubt that it was the same for Altaïr as well. Perhaps it had something do with the fact that it would have been so easy for this to never happen, for them to believe themselves bound by what was considered “proper,” to say nothing of Altaïr’s arrogance and sense of superiority (again, Malik could only be pleased that Altaïr had accepted the lessons of humility), on top of the death of Kadar. 

But this was happening. They had done it before, they would do it again. Perhaps they would find women, marry them, have children, but there would always be places in their hearts for one another.

The creed of the Assassin Brotherhood spoke of how the Assassins were to be shepherds of civilization, that its rules, laws, and structure were fragile, built by mortal hands. These things were not absolute. Perhaps, he hoped, that meant they could one day build a world where their love could be the kind where they were able to promise themselves to one another alone, forsaking all others.

But if he never saw such a world, he would still be able to appreciate what he had with Altaïr as it was. Because every time he pulled at the robes on the other man’s body, removing them from the strong flesh underneath, he was reminded that still, this man had chosen to welcome him as a lover. 

Or, as he’d put it to anyone else, he had chosen to welcome Altaïr as his lover.

Their kiss deepened as they continued to disrobe, laying on Altaïr’s robe and caressing the other, running their hands over old scars, more than a few patched by the other. Malik, of course, had done the stitching of many of the more recent ones on Altaïr – his hand traced the line of a wound from an arrow from one of Tamir’s men near Altaïr’s shoulder, and he decided to replace his fingers with his lips. The act made Altaïr hum with pleasure.

“Malik...” Altaïr moaned. 

“Shh...” Malik hushed, moving back from Altaïr’s shoulder to his mouth. “Wait a little before you get to the part where you scream my name, eh?” He pulled back just enough to see the blown out pupils in Altaïr’s eyes – he found his lover as intoxicating as Malik did. 

Before Malik could decide where to focus his attentions next, Altaïr reached up to cup Malik’s face, a gentle gesture that still held him in place. “Malik... Please. Let me speak... beloved.”

The word sent a shiver down Malik’s spine. They had avoided any real labels for what they did – it was meaningful enough to deserve it, at least so far as Malik felt, yet to name it would almost be like breaking a spell, the one that allowed them the ability to have this to keep. Yet by giving him this name, to call him such... Altaïr was leaving no room for interpretation in what he was saying.

“You believed in my worthiness, my ability to be better, at a time I deserved no such trust. I know that your words of anger were born of a belief that I could be more. My own arrogance told me not to believe you, that your words were born of jealousy, not belief, trust, and even love. For that, I cannot apologize enough to you.” He continued quickly, not allowing Malik the opportunity to say that no such apology was needed. “My arrogance took much from you, and your absolution does not lessen my guilt at that. But...” He paused, not in contemplation, but as if he believed he were running the risk of breaking the spell, breaking the feeling between them that allowed them to speak like this. “You forgave that, somehow. And... I will spend my life hoping to live up to that faith and forgiveness.” He rested his head against Malik’s own. “I love you, Malik. I have for so long, and...”

Malik reached up, taking one of Altaïr’s hands into his. “You are a wonderfully sentimental fool,” he said, unable to help from the teasing that had so defined their relationship. Before his words could be taken wrong, despite the way that he held to Altaïr, he followed up. “I love you, as well. I think, in some way... I always have. Even when I hated you... It was because I had felt like I’d so misjudged you. But you’ve proved that to have been an aberration, that it was born of hubris you’ve since dispelled. You are... so strong. I don’t just mean physically. What it took to make you question yourself and Al-Mualim... I know how difficult it was for me.” Now Malik couldn’t help but smirk. “It must have been significantly more difficult for you, knowing how thick-headed you can be.”

Altaïr returned his mirth. “Even in a moment such as this, you resort to jibes and insults?”

“If you wanted anything different, novice, you would have found yourself in this position with someone else.”

“Never.” The vehemence in Altaïr’s voice made it clear that, joking banter or not, he was not going to accept any alternative – he was Malik’s lover, and no other. 

The force of Malik’s next kiss pushed Altaïr onto his back, then rolling them around so that Malik was on his back as he entwined their fingers together. Their hard cocks, ignored as they spoke their words of devotion, now demanded attention, and Altaïr used his free hand to reach down and grasp them both, pumping furiously.

Feeling Altaïr’s body pressed against his – feeling Altaïr’s heart thumping against his own chest – Malik willed himself to not release yet. He had plans for Altaïr, and he wanted the opportunity to at least try to get through a few steps now. 

Even with what amounted to a promise that they’d spend years continuing, there were some things that were just important to do immediately. 

To Malik’s surprise, Altaïr pulled back – how was he stopping this NOW? But before Malik could do more than wonder where he was going, still reeling from the sudden loss of contact with the other man’s body, Altaïr moved to bring a small container of massage oil closer, and Malik understood.

“What are you thinking, Malik?” he asked softly. Malik couldn’t help but stare at the other man’s unashamed erection, the one that had been rubbing against his own moments ago. A part of him wanted to feel it in him again – this was far from their first time, though with the declarations they’d made to one another, it felt momentous enough – but...

“I wish to be inside you,” Malik said. 

The smile that appeared on Altaïr’s face told him that he made the right decision. “I was hoping you would say that.” He teasingly drew out the process of readying Malik’s cock with the oil, but not by much, his own cock a testament to the fact that he was definitely eager for this as much as Malik himself. 

The moments it took were still achingly long, however.

And then Malik was pushing in to Altaïr, enjoying the positively filthy moans that were coming from his lover. He gripped at Altaïr’s hip, holding tight, perhaps even hard enough to bruise... He wanted to mark Altaïr, have him with some marker, a reminder of him being Malik’s, no one else’s. And, given their robes, no one else would necessarily see it. A bit of a pity, but probably necessary. The novices did like their gossip, after all. 

“Malik...” Altaïr hissed, a keen that went straight to Malik’s cock, telling him clearly that he wouldn’t last long. He kept at a solid pace all the same, determined to show Altaïr the benefits of restraint. He may be mentor, but he could certainly stand to learn a few new things every now and then. It would keep him humble. 

And yet, still, before too long, they were both spilling out – Altaïr may have already come, Malik had been too focused on his own approaching climax to particularly focus – and Altaïr slumped bonelessly against Malik. He had, however, enough presence of mind to reach up, gently caressing Malik’s face, even as he had little coherent thought. 

And then Altaïr smirked. “I think that it was you who was screaming my name,” he said.

Malik had been settling into the post-orgasmic haze and needed a moment to realize what Altaïr had said. “You’re beginning to hear things, novice,” he said, though the words carried more affection than genuine heat.

“I clearly heard you,” Altaïr countered, seeming to greatly enjoy this moment.

And, Malik realized, he had possibly done exactly as Altaïr was accusing him. His memory of the last few minutes was simply wrapped up in the heat and warmth and pleasure of their lovemaking. 

Not that he’d let that be known. “I’ll not hear any more of your lies.”

After all, he had to do what he could to keep Altaïr humble. Else there’d just be absolutely no living with him. And, despite the inherent danger of their lives as Assassins, Malik had every intention of living with him for many, many years to come.


End file.
